Memories
by Schneiderette
Summary: All nations have had to suffer consequences for their actions, this one has never let go.


The death toll was rising per day.

Germany was told that this didn't matter – these weren't his people, not at all. They were merely the inferior; apparently human lives that were easily replaced, brought here specifically to die.

Ludwig didn't understand this, but as he saw those children lined up at the concentration camp, he knew one thing was certain, there was one connection between him and these disposable lives.

He was once innocent, too.

There attempted to be unity between the people of Germany – well, at least, the _true _Germans. But how could the citizens be at rest when Germany himself slept restlessly? His streets turned dull and grey, the air swirled with industrial smoke, the concrete stained somewhere, with one's blood. There was no doubt that Germany himself was divided – and therefore, all that surrounded him would eventually begin to crumble.

Another day, the Führer screaming at him, as if he were some incompetent fool. Ludwig slept badly during these times; as he was told constantly to stay alert, he often didn't sleep at night. He used to sleep much easier, specifically when his boss first came to power. But as the years continued, Ludwig had suffered. Now when he slept, he often saw the images he'd seen throughout the day. They were always the things he did not want to see.

Ludwig was tall, strong, bold, a man with the genes of a true Aryan – your typical example of German perfection.

But the man himself was not perfect. He represented every bombed building, every wailing citizen, every damaged field, every early grave. Ludwig had become fractured; the responsibility was beyond his capacity. Unable to carry the weight on his own, and with no one around that he considered a friend, not even his allies, he was left alone.

He was once a hardworking, kind man. Harsh but kind. Never the emotional type, at least, he never pinned his heart on his sleeve. Now he'd become intolerant, arrogant. One would just need to stare at him too long and he would bark at them like a rabid dog. He took whatever he wanted in these times. He needed more land, the solution was to attack his neighbours until they surrendered. Even the neutral did not avoid Germany's wrath. He couldn't care less for their cowardice.

He was aggressive, violent, demanding and judgemental – essentially, the fear of all Europe. He was a terror, yet he looked like an angel with that blond hair and those piercing blue eyes. What once was had become a repulsive creature, willing to strike on any prey that dared to block his way. He was determined, blinded by the leader that he admired. Germany knew that without order, he would fall apart; he couldn't even follow directions without them being specific, ordered, and given to him. So, in Ludwig's eyes, this man meant everything to him, regardless of the evil that he was.

He couldn't understand it, himself. Time and time again he'd been ordered to execute someone, annex other nations, invade old friends, bully them, steal their homes and land. Germany had said no originally to all of this – but it appeared now he had gotten used to it. He no longer turned his head at the sight of a weeping woman on the street. No, he'd just shove her aside and continue with his work, his mission, whatever if may be.

Germany had no heart for those who were not his true people. But it wasn't always like this. In fact, Germany's inevitable breakdown was something that was unexpected. He had drilled it into his head that he would win, this wouldn't be like the first world war. He fought against odds, challenging all those who defied him, eventually, even his own people.

The 30th of April, 1945 was when Germany fell to his knees – the death of his dictator. After that, everything began to go downhill. His people had lost hope, his armies had grown weak – the world was finally able to rise against him. Ludwig would soon feel that powerlessness he had forced upon all the others. His country began to reduce in size, irony as the German had fought so hard to occupy the land of others.

Ludwig would soon be reduced to tears. No longer were the days of the Amerikan propaganda, the fear of the Nazi uprising. No, all that was left was a weakened nation that everyone despised. He tried his hardest to convince the others that the 17 million deaths were not his doing. He was desperate to be powerful, now he was only desperate for recovery. He was not even allowed to participate in sporting events, for many years – an activity that once brought everyone together.

Germany would pay for the nightmares he had fuelled by experiencing the loneliness he so truthfully deserved. Winter now felt so much colder in these years. He wanted to change, but he had always been repressed by _something. _He kept his hardworking nature – in his eyes, it was all he had now. As long as there was a reason to live, Germany would always keep fighting, regardless of how many wounds he had, how many depressions he had fought.

He would fight, even as his people were dying and their hope was dwelling. He would fight, even as they took his dearest brother away. He would fight, even as they repressed him.

He would fight until his very death.

Germany would do one thing right on this earth. For every nightmare he'd had, for every child he'd slaughtered, for all the voices he'd crushed. He had his days of foolishness; the anger, the hatred, the ignorance.

He would live to make things right, regardless of the fact that the road to forgiveness seemed so long. It was longer than he could possibly ever imagine.

Looking at him now, you'd have no idea how many memories are still fresh in his mind. He never speaks of it openly, but, his strongest memory is those children.

Children that once smiled, even when trapped in war. Children that were experimented on, punished, for being nothing but _innocence._

He's never been able to look one in the eye since.


End file.
